Mandokar – [MAN-doh-KAR] – the "right stuff"; the epitome of Mandalorian virtue – a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty, and a lust for life.
She is the wife of the Mand'alor and the mother of the Mando'ade. In accordance with their marriage vows, she carries the same high honor and power as her husband. Though she is kindhearted and nurturing, she is the deadliest of the group, which earns her the highest respect.
-Unknown Mandalorian author
"You're the Imperial spy."
The man's lips curl into a vulgar sneer, revealing pointy, carnivorous teeth.
"Spirited little thing, aren't you?" he says in in the native language of Mimban.
"Why are you here?" you question, his language easily falling off your tongue, having worked with numerous Mimbanese mechanics and pilots. "Tell me!"
"The wife of the Mandalorian leader will fetch a pretty price from the Empire."
Stirred by his words, you raise your blaster, the cold gleam of the black metal targeting him directly. Fear turns to anger, causing your body temperature to spike, your eyes narrowing in a hatred that's as deadly as the weapon gripped firmly in your hand.
"Maybe you haven't heard, but the Empire was defeated," you say, your words laced with venom. "The war is over. The Emperor is dead. You're fighting for a lost cause."
"The Empire was destroyed only to be born again. The Emperor controls its every move from beyond the grave. It will rise again, and all its supporters will be rewarded for their loyalty."
"Loyalty?" you question. "So that's what you call betraying an entire nation of people."
"No. You have yourselves to thank for that. The information received from Nevarro will, no doubt, lead to the destruction of your people. All this could've been avoided had you just accepted the peace and prosperity the Empire can offer."
"Peace? This is chaos."
"Chaos proceeds great changes, and we are on the threshold of a new era. Perhaps if you wish to cooperate buy providing more information, you'll be rewarded as well. Perhaps it'll be less harsh punishment, but a reward nonetheless."
"Fuck you," you spit. "What have you told them? What do the Imperials know?"
The bright-red skin of his face twists into another evil sneer. He utters a word in Basic, spoken with a strange inflection. A single word, but enough to justify your reaction.
Everything.
As soon as the word escapes his lips, you squeeze the blaster's trigger, sending a yellow energy bolt screaming into the Mimbanese man's chest. It opens a smoking hole there, hurling his body into the back of the captain's seat before falling to the ground with a thump.
The scent of scorched skin pervades the air, putrid and rich, but it doesn't bother you, confirming that he's dead as you lower your blaster.
"Fuck."
[LINE BREAK]
From the cockpit window, you watch Greef stride across the field toward Slave II, his posture mostly rigid. His arms swing exaggeratedly, and occasionally he looks around to ensure he isn't being watched or followed. In that moment, it's clear that warning someone not to raise suspicion only causes them to act in ways that make them look suspicious.
Minutes after he disappears from view, the door to the turbolift opens, revealing a concerned, confused Greef.
"I came as fast as I could," he says frantically, sounding a bit out of breath. "I don't understand. I thought- Dank farrik!" He nearly stumbles back, shocked by the unexpected guest on the floor. "What the hell happened? Are you alright?"
"He was spying for the Imperials," you reply. His face scrunches in confusion, as if trying to make sense of what you said. "They know everything because of him. Everything we've ever discussed on Nevarro… They know."
He stares at you for a moment before releasing a breath. "Damn," he quietly swears, putting his fists on his hips and hanging his head. He shakes his head, like he doesn't want to believe it. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I swear I had no idea. If I had had even the slightest suspicion-"
"It's fine," you interrupt. "I didn't call you here to make accusations. I called you here because I trust you, and I need him out of my cockpit."
Greef looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, seeming to contemplate his options. "I can off-load him but it'll take more time than you have. You've already lost enough, and can't afford to lose more."
"What do you suggest I do then?"
Gesturing to the console, he insists, "Fly the ship."
"What?"
"You heard me. I'll take care of him while you fly the ship."
"I…No. No, I can't ask you to go to Mandalore."
"You're not asking. I'm telling."
"What about Nevarro?"
"Mythrol can handle all the clerical work. He can keep the place from going to hell. There are far more pressing matters at hand. Now, fly the kriffing ship."
[LINE BREAK]
After engaging hyperspace and setting the course for Mandalore, you help Greef take the body to the cargo hold, concluding that it would be better to freeze him than to let him rot. The mist from the freezing substance clears, revealing the lustrous gray block of carbonite that now entombs the body of the Mimbanese man, his frontside protruding slightly from the block's flat surface. You can't tear your gaze from the man's frozen form, captured in incredible detail, from the scaley skin on his face to the sharp and clearly defined creases on his clothes. Even the fatal hole from your blaster bolt. He has the appearance of an unfinished statue, as if should be on display.
A trophy kill.
Greef is the first to break the silence.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" you question, knowing there's no reason for him to apologize to you.
"For this mess. Nevarro was supposed to be safe. Respectable. We worked so hard to turn it around. Washed away all the scum and villainy. Yet this was happening right under my nose."
"I told you before that it isn't your fault, Greef, and I meant it. Nowhere is completely safe, not as long as the Empire is still around." There's a trace of fear and sadness in your voice, which you bury beneath a faint layer of hope. "But soon, we'll finally be free. We got him." You gesture to the carbonite block. "Now we'll get them all."
He offers you a small, warm smile. "There's the spunk I was looking for. I knew you had it in you."
You return his smile, but say nothing else.
"How far are we?" Greef questions, once more breaking the silence.
"Several thousand light-years," you reply, uncertain on the exact count.
"Which means we have a little free time on our hands. I guess there's no point in suggesting you use that time to get some rest though, right?"
A soft chuckle slips past your lips. "I don't think I could even if I wanted to. But if you would like to rest yourself, you are more than welcome to use our quarters. There are also a few rooms on this level, as long as you don't mind feeling like a prisoner."
He returns a chuckle. "Nah. I'd rather prove myself useful by searching the comm channels – if you don't mind, I mean."
"It's all yours."
"Hopefully we can come across the frequency the others are using or, worst case, pick up a distress signal. It'd be suicide trying to establish a link ourselves now. Should the Empire intercept, they can pinpoint our exact location."
You nod. "If we're lucky, maybe we'll intercept a signal ourselves."
"I like your thinking." Smirking, he turns to leave the room, but immediately notices you aren't following. Stopping, he turns back. "Are you coming with me?"
You shake your head. "There's something I need to do first."
He nods then exits the room without further question, the door sealing shut behind him with a hiss, leaving you alone in the silence. Alone with the carbonite encased body of the man who wanted you dead – who wanted all Mandalorians and anyone else who resists the Empire dead.
Hanging your head, your swallow back the apprehension that threatens to overwhelm you. Your neck snaps back up, eyes narrow while looking at the figure before stepping closer.
"I hope you told them the part about Mandalorian women being a force of fucking nature. If not… Well, they're about to find out for themselves."
[LINE BREAK]
In almost ceremonial fashion, you slowly lower the shiny helmet over your head until it seals, putting the last of your armor into place and completing your transformation into a faceless warrior. Your age, gender, species are indeterminate, nothing distinguishable beyond your clan, signified by the Mudhorn signet on your pauldron - an archetype of war.
The world silences around you, but your breathing echoes loudly in the dome of the beskar helmet. Blinking, you activate the HUD and sound systems, and the ambient sound of the room floods in. Briefly, you explore the inner workers of your helmet, activating the tactical spot-lamp and then the mic. Selecting the diagnostic icon, a calibration tone sounds, and a line of readouts cascade down the HUD like an overlay on the world around you. Everything appears to be operating normally.
You hold up your left arm, admiring the vambrace and gauntlet that cover you. Like Din's, it's shiny and plain, a blank canvas that may one day tell your story – hopefully today is just the beginning.
Getting used to the feel of it, of your movements, you fling your arm out, somehow accidentally activating the wrist-mounted flamethrower, which spews an orange jet of fire.
"Shit!" you shriek, moving quickly to extinguish the flame. Fortunately, the room doesn't contain anything flammable and there's no damage minus a black spot on the wall where the flame hit.
"Oops," you giggle, looking down at the gauntlet once more, in awe that you could do something like that.
It was a much-needed break in tension.
Grabbing spare laser charge pods and a few thermal detonators, you feel you're as ready as you'll ever be.
[LINE BREAK]
The turbolift's door opens, revealing Greef sitting at the comm station, headset plastered to his ear while he slowly turns the knob, listening closely for something.
Anything.
"Any luck?" you question.
"None," Greef replies, his voice like a concert inside your helmet. He sets the headset down in defeat. "No progress reports, no assistance requestions, not a single-" He turns from the station midsentence, his dark brown eyes widening the moment they lay on you. "Dank farrik! You scared the hell out of me."
Grinning, you lift the helmet from your atop of your head and take it in one arm, hugging it against your side. "Well, I was going for fearsome warrior. I guess I succeeded."
He chuckles while rising to his feet. "I thought you were Din for a second. Thought maybe he learned how to teleport."
"Teleport?" you question with a laugh.
"I don't know what kind of magic the kid taught you," he replies, waving his fingers like he is trying to cast a spell.
Chuckling, you step closer to him. "It would be a pretty useful ability right about now." You look down at the comm station. "So nothing, huh?"
"Not a single clear comm channel from the Mandalore system," he confirms. "At this rate, we'll be entering enemy territory without any communication, and I don't like it."
"We don't really have a choice."
Taking a seat, you adjust the power output, hoping that you can pick up some sort of signal. You begin at the top of the frequency list, lingering a moment and straining to hear some stable audio before moving on, but each frequency offers nothing more than white noise and bursts of static.
Eventually, you try to open a channel directly with first the Lambda shuttle then Slave I.
Both return with nothing.
"Are you sure it's not broken?" you ask, trying to find reason for the silence. "Maybe that traitorous bastard did something to jam our signal. Nothing in or out."
"You know as well as I that it's fully operational," Greef responds.
Your heart drops into your belly, feeling, for a moment, like you're falling. Your jaw tightens, the bad feeling in the well of your gut seeming more justified the longer the silence continues.
"Maybe you were right," you conclude, clinging to something that offers hope. "Maybe their comms were jammed."
"Likely. Or they could they be cloaked."
"No," you reply, trying to remember the plans that had been laid out while on Nevarro. "I don't know of any ships that would have a cloaking device. It's unusual for small ships to have one. They use way too much power. Unless…"
You drop off, racking your brain for answers. Could Moff Gideon's light cruiser – the one Bo-Katan had stolen long ago – offer them the protection they'd need?
"Unless?"
"The light cruiser could have enough power to create a cloaking field large enough to hide numerous starships. It's sophisticated technology that the Moff, no doubt, would have interest in."
Greef seems convinced enough. "Well, there you have it. If their comms aren't jammed, surely they're cloaked and maintaining radio silence."
Folding your arms, you consider the possibility. "It's possible. Plans change all the time, right?"
"And it's a damn good plan. They can't fight what they can't see. The Empire wouldn't know what hit them until it's too late."
The more you think, the more possible it seems. "Well, then, that's the hope we'll hold onto. If we can't reach Mandalore in time to warn the others, we have to hope that they've already ran all the backup plans."
"It's not their first war, sweetheart," Greef reminds you.
"I know. But hopefully it'll be the last."
Turning, you see the star streaks out the window. Eyes transfixed on the blue-colored characters that make up the script of the universe, you wonder if there's some sort meaning in the lines, a revelation hiding in their glow. It's funny how hyperspace looks the same no matter where you are in the universe, and for a moment, you wonder if Din currently has the same view. It should be comforting, but it isn't.
Greef tries to speak to you the rest of the trip from time to time, but his words bounce of your perception, ricocheting without your understanding. Eventually, he stops trying, the silence that falls between the two of you unnerving. You lose track of the slow passage of time, occupying yourself by running diagnostics on the ship's systems, waiting for the computer to tell you that you're nearing the Mandalore system.
In time, it does.
"Coming out of hyperspace," you alert your passenger, turning off the alarm that alerts you of your approach. "Be ready."
Readying yourself, you pull back on the lever that engages the hyperdrive. Coming out of hyperspace, the black overwrites blue, the light of a nearby star painting the interior of the cockpit in orange. Pushing a series of buttons and switches, the ion engines engage as you accelerate through the system.
"Let the fun begin," Greef says.
You have no idea what to expect, and honestly, you're not sure what you're rather see: something or nothing at all.
"I'm see something up ahead," you announce. "Can't quite make any of it out."
Before you can touch any controls, the scanner screen lights up. Turning your head to consult the display, you see the screen so ful of points of lights tagged "UNIDENTIFIED" that you can't even put a pin between them.
"Ships?" Greef inquires.
"No," you respond, confusion in your voice. "There are too many of them - and far too small."
Hoping to get a better view, you squint your eyes while peering out the viewport. Suddenly, a fuzzy object grows and resolves. A drifting hunk of metal, like a ruined ship. Sparkling microscopic debris swirls around it in rapid, furious orbits. It looks like spinning garbage. An eerie howling fills the cabin.
Greef hovers beside you, joining you in trying to make sense of what you're seeing. "Is that a…?"
"TIE Fighter? Sure as hell looks like it," you respond, fluidly maneuvering through the field of wreckage.
"Hope that's a good sign."
"We're about to find out."
The scanner reports two ships – starfighters - which gives you some hope that they're not hostiles. Immediately, you reach for the comm with one hand, navigating the ship with the other.
"Unidentified vessels, this is Slave II. Identify yourselves." You should be anxious, but there isn't a trace of it in your voice. You have no illusions that the transmission made it through. "Tion'cuy?" Who's there?
There's a soft hissing silence, and honestly you expected nothing else.
"Maybe the comms were jammed after all," Greef admits.
If anyone would have the technology to block a signal in the space above a planet, it would be the Empire.
"They're not engaging," you note, watching as they fly away from your ship, seeming to surveil the area. "I think they're letting us pass."
Before you, the glowing orb of Mandalore hangs in the deep night of space. Its yellow sun crests behind the planet, and Mandalore's horizon line lights up like it's on fire.
"Entering atmosphere," you announce.
The two of you watch the fire of atmospheric entry sheathe the ship, taking a steeper decent than normal, eager to enter as quickly as possible. The longer the approach, the more likely you'll be noticed by someone less friendly. Slave II vibrates as it carves its way into the atmosphere, sliding through it like a vibroblade, ignoring the heat generating on its hull.
Dropping, you soon level the ship out, flying just below cloud level, low enough to avoid basic radar-based scanners but not too low for it to be dangerous. Consulting your datapad for navigation, you edge toward your destination, feeling through your hands the ship's responses to being back in an atmosphere.
It is dark on this side of the planet, but you're still able to make out the destruction below. It is worse than you could've ever imagined.
You had heard of the Great Purge of Mandalore long before meeting Din, though your knowledge of it came from what you read and heard. You remember watching the HoloNet News and hearing the reports, the demonizing of the Mandalorian people by the Empire and the eventual eradication of those who had threatened the peace and the stability of the Galactic Empire. The Siege of Mandalore, they had called it.
But holos were at a distance, imagination was limited by experience, and the promise of peace was a lie. Everything the Empire had said was a lie; you've known it for years. And thanks to those lies, very few people knew what happened to Mandalore. But now, you see the truth with your own eyes, and nothing could've prepared you for it. It's startling to see how effective a miliary strike could be, and though you have seen plenty of combat, you've never been involved in a full-scale war.
Despite the ship's quick passing, the devastation is still staggering. Any signs of civilization in the fields below were lost. The sunbaked, cracked soil of the surface is littered with craters, many so large that they could swallow small moons. Nothing grew, not even seedlings that usually emerge after a fire.
The nav computer hums and flashes, alerting you of your approach to Sundari. The level of devastation grows further. Very little of the city's protective dome remains. The ruins inside are a charred, melted mess, holding lakes of rancid water, slivers of wrecked buildings pointing toward the sky.
The ship settles just outside the fractured dome, ticking and creaking as its engines wind down and the hull starts to cool. Usually, you like this part of a long flight, often times imagining that Slave II is sighing with satisfaction at a job well done and preparing to recharge its muscles. But this is nowhere near the end of a journey.
It's only the beginning.
[LINE BREAK]
Heart pounding, ears ringing, you key the code for the ship's hatch. With a hiss and a groan, the hatch swings down into a ramp. As the atmospheres equalize, a breeze swirls around, tossing Greef's robes as he stands beside you. Even behind the helmet, you can smell the scents of burnt ozone, charred flesh, and unmistaken fear and death that fill the air. In the distance, the sounds of a battle unfolding don't end. A plume of flame, flashes of blaster fire fill the night sky.
Sundari is a warzone.
Had the others successfully infiltrated the city? Or had they walked themselves right into a trap – a trap of their own design that they unknowingly laid in the enemy's hand? Are those the sounds of the planned assault on the Imperials being successfully carried out? Or are those the sounds of a strong Imperial force mowing down any Mandalorian in their path?
Your stomach turns upside down and you swallow against the queasy lump that tries to form.
"Do you think the helmet comlinks working?" you question, turning to Greef. Every Mandalorian helmet is fitted with their own radios. Would they be affected by whatever is jamming the ship's comm systems?
"Only one way to find out."
[LINE BREAK]
Din rips open the large doors and advances into the room that once belonged to the Mand'alor. More black droids lurk inside, their soulless red photoceptors glowing in the darkness as they stand stoically guard. Though he's badly outnumbered, he's not afraid, confidence boosted by the dozens of Stormtroopers and Dark Troopers he slaughtered on his journey to the palace, in search of his final target: Moff Gideon.
The Dark Troopers fire repeatedly, bolts of red lambent energy that he easily bats away with the blade of his weapon, knocking them away as if he is swatting flies. A few rogue shots ping off his armor, the rest deflected with his blade, sending the red bolts into the walls, the ceiling, the floor.
Din brings the Darksaber around in a waist-high cut, slicing through the first enormous battle droid like Bantha butter. Continuing the move, he shifts his right wrist to raise the saber and uses a backhanded cut to decapitate a second droid. The blow pops the droid's head off and sends it flipping through the air, landing somewhere in the darkness with a clunk.
Sliding forward to the next trooper in line, Din wastes no time in bringing the saber back to striking position. Gripping the hilt with two hands, he cuts from above, splitting the droid from outside shoulder to inside hip.
But the blow was a mistake and he knows it.
Though it was effective, it took a moment too long to cut through it and prepare his blade for another strike. Unexpectedly, he is forced backwards by a Dark Trooper who grabs hold of his right arm, twisting it until he drops the Darksaber. His body slams against the wall, narrowly avoiding one of the enormous shattered windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling. The droid pins him, crushes him, making it difficult for Din to breath. He recalls the last time he was in a similar predicament, remembering how ineffective most of his actions had been. Fortunately, he knows what should do the trick.
thrusts it into the Dark Trooper's neck, cutting the exposed wiring, golden sparks shooting from the armor. He pushes the body away, allowing it to collapse to the floor.
The human pilot wasn't the last weakness after all.
Deflecting blaster bolts with his armor, Din leaps over the fallen droid and swoops down to grab the Darksaber, then swings and slices a droid's legs. As the droid falls to its knees, he grips the blade with both hands and swings down onto its helmet. He strikes out with the Darksaber, once, twice more, thrusting its glowing blade into the nearest droids. His glowing blade slashes through the air, effortlessly slicing through the armor, leaving the Imperial droids in smoking piles of junk.
Breathing hard, weapon still thrumming in his hand, Din quickly surveys the destruction. He had torn the droids apart. A bloodbath – without the blood. The room fills with a smoking stench of vaporized droid metal and components. Exhaustion threatens to overwhelm him, pain rolls through his body, but despite this momentary victory, he knows the battle is far from won.
"Impressive."
The calm, electronically modulated voice comes out of the darkness behind Din, cutting through his thoughts and sending a shiver in his bones. He stills in silence, listening to the heavy footsteps creep behind him, watching the figure move in his helmet's rear display
"Your skills with the saber have, no doubt, improved. If it offers you any assurance, Bo-Katan did not fight nearly as well when she lost the very same saber - to me."
"Thanks, but I don't need your assurance."
Din turns to face Moff Gideon, his shadowy figure stepping into the moonlight. His hands are empty, as if trying to give the impression he is not a threat. The last thing Din feels at the sight of the man is threatened, buried deep beneath his seething rage. Gideon's usual gear is gone, replaced by blackened armor. He dons a matching helmet with large horns, which reminds him of the Armorer, the edges of his T-shaped visor painted red. The man who has the blood of thousands if not millions of Mandalorians on his hands is now attempting to steal their culture.
The sheer audacity spurs Din's fury, his grip tightening around the hilt of the Darksaber.
"You are disgrace," Din spits. "You are a coward, hiding in fear behind the spoils of a massacre. You don't deserve the honor of wearing beskar."
"If that's your way of asking me to remove the armor, I cannot. You and I both know you will strike me down the moment I'm exposed."
"This is where it's going," Din says, mimicking the words the Moff had said to him the first time they crossed paths on Nevarro. "You take it off or I will. If you choose the latter, I will do so after striking you down with the Darksaber. Either way, you die."
A cold chuckle rings through Gideon's modulator, and Din imagines a smirk hidden beneath the helmet. He takes a step forward, an attempt to close the distance between them. "You may think you know how this will go, but you do not. You don't even have the slightest clue. Any minute now, a Pursuer-class enforcement ship known as Slave II should be making its descent onto Mandalore - if it hasn't already, that is. I'm certain I don't have to tell you who is on that ship and the dangers she faces if this little insurrection continues."
Blood surges through his veins, but he remains silent, entertaining Gideon's proposal.
"Surrender to me now, and no harm will be done to her or your unborn child," the Moff continues. "Should you try to kill me and fail, you will not be allowed to surrender and will instead act as an example of what happens when you defy the Empire. Should you attack and somehow succeed in killing me, then I assure you that someone will take my place. Someone will continue the fight. You will be hunted down and slain. You will be killed. Your family will be killed. But the Empire will live on."
Gideon pauses before continuing, "People are going to die, Din, no matter what. But their deaths should not be pointless. It should be for the right cause. The power and strength of your people is nothing short of admirable. It lies in their willingness to maintain ideas and uphold strict codes of morality. There is security in strength, and order in obedience. So, I give you one last chance. Cooperate with the Empire - or die."
If there's anything Din has learned from Gideon, it's not to trust him. He doesn't entertain the idea of surrendering – not even for a second.
"The only one dying is you," he retorts.
Gideon gives a short, malicious chuckle. "Very well." He reaches behind his shoulder and draws a shiny silvery spear, similar to the one slung over Din's back.
Suddenly, the origins of his own makes sense to Din, how the Imperial governor on Corvus came in possession of it. The Imperials have been using the ore from Mandalore to produce weapons and armor, trying to rebuild their army, trying to be invincible.
"Then today will be the day that the Mandalorians are erased from existence," the Moff concludes, preparing himself to strike.
Assuming a fighting stance, Din raises the Darksaber, the weapon thrumming steadily in his firm grip, wrists locked. "We'll see about that."
Din lunges forward, and Gideon meets his charge, bringing the spear up fast. The Mandalorian raises the saber and blocks the attack. Gideon swings again and again, but Din parries each blow. Parrying another of Gideon's overheard slashes, the two weapons meet and maintain contact. Sparks fly as they keep their weapons braced against each other, the impact sending painful vibrations shooting up the Mandalorian's arms and into his shoulders.
Weapon-to-weapon, they are almost mirror images of one another. But they couldn't be any more different.
Over the humming of his blade, Din can hear the Moff's labored breathing, knowing that he is already wearing himself out. He also knows that defeat will come from a single mistake, and decides to let go of every distraction, of everything in his mind. His hopes. His fears. His obligation to the Mandalorians. His promises to Grogu. His promises to you.
Freeing his mind and channeling everything into his sword, Din breaks contact and swings hard at Gideon, but Gideon evades the black and white glowing blur of his foe's weapon and jumps backwards.
Though he has control over his blade, Din cannot control or even predict what his enemy will do. The beskar spear cuts and stabs, always missing Din by centimeters when he doesn't parry it aside. Gideon, meanwhile, swirls the spear around to parry Din's lunges and bat away his slashes. They're perfectly matched. Neither give any ground. Neither can penetrate the other's defenses.
Din feigns low and unleashes a vicious overhand blow, then another, and another. The Imperial parries each one, and though it's clear that the blows began to numb his arms, he still manages to answer with blows of his own. Gideon cross-cuts at Din's knees, but the Mandalorian leaps over the slash, using an overcut to drive the tip of the spear to the once-polished floor. Din spins, angling his glowing blade for Gideon's neck.
Gideon lurches backward, but the tip of Din's sword opens a gash on his arm. Staggering, gasping, Gideon swings wildly at his opponent. Once recovered, he charges, attacking high, low, overhead, cross-cuts. Backing off, Din parries them all. Gideon does not relent, pressing him further, faster. Din answers when he can, but it seems like the spear is everywhere all at once.
And that's when Din hears it - a voice ringing through his helmet comm. He misses the name as the speaker identifies herself, but the voice is unmistakable, despite speaking with a military efficiency he'd never heard before as she announces that she's landed outside of Sundari.
"Does anyone copy?"
His breath hitches against the back of his throat, and for a moment he thinks he's imagining things. But then the line is repeated, and it's clear that his suspicions are correct…. That there was some truth to Gideon's words.
"Riduur?" Din questions aloud, but since he hadn't toggled the switch to his mic only Gideon can hear.
Suddenly, pain explodes from Din as the tip of the spear spills into his abdomen, having pierced his armor. Din falls to his knees and Gideon yanks the weapon free, smacking against his foe's arm so Din flings the Darksaber across the room, sparking and smoking against the floor.
"Well," Gideon sneers, standing over Din with the spear pointed at his throat. "This will make things more interesting."
[LINE BREAK]
The speaker crackles with static. No response. You don't expect one. Not immediately. Not at all. You identify yourself once and wait. Finally, an unfamiliar feminine tone breaks through the static.
"Copy, my lady."
Several voices follow, repeating the same phrase. You're overwhelmed by the number of responses, your heart leaps in job, but none are the voice you're hoping for.
A private message light appears on the display of your helmet, and you switch to the channel. Before you can speak, a familiar growl rumbles through the speaker.
"Do you have a death wish, little one?"
A chuckle falls from your lips as you exhale, releasing a breath you didn't realize you had been holding. "Fett. I've never been happier to hear your voice."
"I can't say the same," Boba says in an irritated tone. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"It's a long story," you reply, knowing there are more pressing matters than explaining what brought you here. "Where's Din?"
"I can't say, little one. He went radio silent before going to find Gideon. He didn't wa-"
"He did what?" you question, your tone dripping with disbelief. You turn to Greef, who looks at you in confusion, only able to hear your side of the conversation. "With who? Bo-Katan?"
"No," he replies bluntly. "Alone."
A mixture of shock and confusion mutes you, your eyes focused on the flashes in the smoke billowing from the ruined city. Why would he go alone? Any number of things could go horribly wrong. What if he gets overwhelmed? What if he gets seriously injured?
Why did the plans change?
"-run like rats," you heard Boba speak, catching the tail end of whatever he had said.
"What?" you question, forcing yourself out of your trance.
"The plan. His plan. 'We take out the head imp, the rest will run like rats.'"
Those words… Where had you heard them before?
It takes you a moment to remember.
Cara.
It's what she had said on the trip to Nevarro in regards to the ex-Imperial Officer who was after Grogu. But, it turned out, he wasn't the head Imperial…Gideon was – is.
Is Din sticking to Cara's original plan?
"I'm a little busy here pushing back some Imps, but-"
"Where is he?" you question, interrupting him. "Where's Gideon?"
"Do you really thi-"
"I'm doing this with or without your help, Fett," you interrupt forcefully, your adamant tone telling him that now is not the time to argue. "How can I find Din?"
.
A frustrated sigh comes through the speaker. "Fine. You have the maps?"
"Yes," you reply. Tapping of a button on the side of your helmet, the HUD responds by superimposing a map of the surrounding area on the screen of your visor. A blue dot signifies where you're standing.
"Gideon's holding up in the palace, hiding behind an army of droids like the scared little rat he is."
Droids?
Dark Troopers, no doubt. If they're anything like the ones on the light cruiser… Shivers run down your spine.
"Shit," you utter under your breath, closing your eyes tight, trying to regain composure.
"There's an access point to the Undercity on the east side."
With a tap of another button, the map changes to show the Undercity, a system of tunnels and sewage points beneath Sundari. Your eyes trail along the east side of the map, looking for the entrance. Finding it, you drop a red point, a path lighting up on your display.
"I see it."
"Follow the tunnels to an exit point right outside the palace. If you don't find Din along the way… Well, certainly his path of destruction will lead you to him."
"Got it."
"Comms won't work down there, but you shouldn't run into any problems."
"Good."
"If you do…put on a damn good show."
"Don't worry. I will.
[LINE BREAK]
Standing at the mouth of the tunnel outside the city, you switch on the light attached to your helmet, igniting a flame that gutters in the night before revealing the shadowy depths of the capital's Undercity. Beside you, Greef pulls out a hand-torch and points the beam inside, and though the light is weak, its presence gives you some sort of psychological comfort.
The optics in your helmet adjusts to the change of light. Ahead of you looms a long, rounded tunnel, disappearing in an endless darkness beyond the reach of your light. You watch for any movement, the blaster fire from the city above making it impossible to discern any noise coming from within, but see nothing.
Taking a deep breath and curling your fingers around the blaster in hand, you gather the courage to enter, an armed Greef at your side.
The tunnels are bigger than you expected, at least three times higher and wider than you are tall. The stone walls are cold and covered with a sheen of dampness and some sort of green algae. The air that wafts into your helmet smells slightly of mildew. After several yards, you come to an intersection. Backing up against the wall, you pause to listen, but only hear your own breathing and the rhythm of your heart. Slowly, you ease forward to peek around the corner.
Nothing. Only another empty tunnel that leads to darkness.
"Clear on my end," Greef reports.
"Clear. Let's keep going."
You continue forward, treading carefully and feeling each step as you move. Neither of you speak, your heart pounding furiously and throat dry. The air you breathe seems to become heavier. There's a bizarre silence that filters out all incoming sounds from the outside world.
Turning a corner, you come across the first sign of the fighting: bodies. Stormtroopers. Several of them.
Suddenly, fear flows through your body. Staring, shivering, you fully realize what fatal danger lurks in these passageways and the streets above.
"This sure as hell wasn't blaster fire," Greef quietly notes, stating the obvious. Several of the troopers' limbs were cleanly severed, another sliced in half.
"No," you reply, your heart fluttering with hope. You close your eyes for a moment, as if trying to reach out and find something to alert you to his presence, silently relieved by your findings.
Din is here. Closer than you imagined.
"Well, at least we know we're headed in the right direction," Greef adds, reminding you of the task at hand.
"C'mon," you reply, beckoning him forward. "This way."
Your heart is beating faster now, driving you forward. Gingerly, you step over the bodies of the dead, careful not to trip. Somehow, the taste of smoke and death reach your mouth, leaving you feeling uneasy.
Everything seems to be quiet enough. You pass several more similar scenes, but you pick up your pace, feeling a bit more confident that the Undercity is empty and not wanting to waste any time getting to Din.
"Map says we're nearly to the exit."
Jogging through another intersection where two tunnels connect, you don't immediately see it –the false sense of security created by the silence blinded your senses to their presence.
A flash of white catches the corner of your eye, but they've seen you before you manage to see them. A squad of stormtroopers, blasters at the ready, emerges from the darkness at the end of the passageway. The lead trooper raises and blaster and fires, but you leap forward to safety, slamming your back against the wall.
Shit!
The shot is a clear miss, disappearing into the darkness down the tunnel.
Greef remains on the other side of the cross corridor. He eases to the corner and grabs a quick glance around, throwing himself back as the air between the two of you fills with blaster fire, their whines echoing off the walls.
"So much for being clear!" Greef shouts.
Fuck, you think clearly, time slowing to a halt around you. You couldn't seem to get a breath in, a nauseated stunned emptiness filling you. Fortunately, your mind manages to function logically in a crisis.
You've got a blaster. Use it.
Finger tight on the trigger, you round the corner, level the blaster at a trooper, and shoot. The first shots hit him in the knees and drop him back into a fellow trooper. You're amazed you actually hit him, but don't have time to dwell on your achievement.
The corridor's lit by the back and forth of half a dozen blasters. The Stormtroopers bring their blasters up over and over but only managing to trace lines of fires into the walls. The shots that manage to hit your body merely ping off the armor.
You shift aim to another assailant, the shot angling upward just enough to pass between his breastplate and the bottom of his helmet. It takes him square in the throat, and he lets out a chocked gurgle before dropping to his knees.
Greef yelps as a blaster bolt scorches across his sleeve, then twists back to safety.
"Stay back!" you yell across the corridor, feeling you're better equipped to handle this.
"And let you have all the fun?" Greef questions. "I don't think so!" He swirls back around, popping off shots toward the enemy line.
A sudden tingle of danger in the back of your mind saves your life. You drop to a knee, and as soon as you do, a pair of bolts from behind flash into the stonework where you had been. Hot splinters of stone scatter across you. Your eyes and blaster quickly track where the shots had come from, getting off two quick shots the moment you see more troopers, moving quickly down the opposite side of the corridor.
Fuck, they're flanking.
"Looks like they will be plenty to go around," you shout to Greef,
Shifting to a two-handed grip and trying to ignore the shots that are getting uncomfortably close, you line up your blaster to the right most assailant and fire twice. He jerks and collapses to the floor, his blaster still firing reflexively and uselessly toward the ceiling.
"You alright?" you call to your companion.
"This is nothing!" Greef replies. "I can handle them. You go on."
"What?" you question.
"You're wasting valuable time," he shouts between firing, echoing what you had said to him on Nevarro. "Go find Din. I'll be fine here."
Squeezing the trigger of your blaster several more times, you consider your options. A little voice of reason is screaming "No!" in the back of your head, telling you to stick together, to take the time to take down the groups before continuing on.
He went to find Gideon, a voice reminds you. He's alone. What if something happens to him?
"We'll come back for you," you assure him before turning and running down the channel.
It's another error, not being more careful.
Nearing the end of the tunnel, the light at the exit growing brighter, you see more troopers.
"There she is!" one calls.
Stretching your blaster in front of you, you shoot, watching them fall while ducking and deflecting shots. Jumping into a side corridor to shield yourself from more blaster fire, you don't see the two Stormtroopers hiding there. Nor do you see the vicious attack that slams your head back against a wall, your head cracking against your helmet. For a split second, you're conscious, willing yourself the strength to fight, but the pain crashes over you in waves. The blaster rolls uselessly from your grasp and you slid down the wall into a heap on the Undercity floor.
The cool, stale air hits your face as you feel your helmet ripped from your head.
"We got her."
Everything goes dark.
[LINE BREAK]
"Ah, there she is."
Despite your dazed state, you recognize the voice, which sends a cold shiver down your spine. The stormtroopers release you from their grip and toss you forward, causing you to stumble and fall to your hands and knees, landing heavily. Your hands keep you propped up by nothing more than remembered terror.
"Just the person we were waiting for."
Your hair hangs in your face, sticking to the sweat on your skin. Blood pumps to your head, throbbing at the back, and you try to make sense of what is happening, praying it is only a bad dream.
"Now, she can watch as I bring her husband's life to an end."
A trooper grabs you by the hair and yanks you back, lifting your head and bringing you to your knees before you can even think to move. You yelp in pain, your eyes close.
"No!" Din yells, his voice hoarse.
Squeezing your eyes tighter, a tear falls freely. No, you think, refusing to believe what's happening.
"Let her go!"
Opening your eyes, you observe your surroundings. Though it's poorly illuminated, you can tell the room is large and was once grand, now littered with heaping piles of smoking metallic garbage, glass littering the floor beneath the broken windows that reach the ceiling. Two stormtroopers stand a comfortable distance away from Din, looming over him with blaster rifles in their hands, ready to strike if ordered; a similar scene, no doubt, looms behind you.
Din is on his knees, his body slumped. One hand is pressed to his side, stained with blood. A blaster bolt wouldn't have caused so much blood. His nose is also bleeding as well, a cheek bruising, another lined with a cut, his hair matted with sweat.
In front of Din stands Gideon, donning armor he doesn't deserve and holding the weapon that you last saw in the possession of Din: the Darksaber.
"Do whatever you want to me, but don't hurt her," Din begs. "Please."
Looking at Din, you softly shake your head, causing more tears to fall, wishing you could stop him from speaking.
Gideon grins happily at Din's performance, obviously pleased.
"Her fate is entirely up to her," Gideon responds. He turns to you and steps closer to where you're on the floor. "I have given your husband every opportunity to cooperate. He has resisted my offers of reasonable negotiation, and in doing so he has rejected peace, security, and prosperity. I'm afraid he has left me no choice. Anyone who is unwilling to serve the ends of the Empire must be destroyed. And now, I extend the same offer to you. Serve the Empire or die."
"Fuck you," you spit without second thought, fire in your voice.
A trace of anger appears on Gideon's face. He glares down at you for a moment before responding with a backhanded slap across your cheek.
You feel as if your cheek has exploded. Through the spots of flashing lights, you see Din attempt to stand but fall, angrily yet weakly shouting, "Stop!" The surrounding stormtroopers laugh at his struggle and your pain.
Din is doubled over on the floor once more, breathing with difficulty. He looks up at Gideon and says, "If I tell you where he is, will you let her go?"
"Where is he?" Gideon snarls, snapping back to Din.
"Let her go, and I'll give you the coordinates."
Looking across at Din, you furrow your brows in confusion. Who could they be looking for?
Grogu…
Shaking your head once more, you whisper, "No. You can't."
"Just let her go," Din repeats.
"Din, please," you implore. "Don't beg to him. He will never find Grogu. He won't even make it off this planet alive."
A stormtrooper behind you kicks you in the back, forcing you forward on your hands. "I'd shut your whore mouth if I were you."
A blaster sounds, and the trooper thumps to the ground, Gideon having shot him as a reminder to the few others who is in charge.
"Tell me right now where he is," Gideon demands irritably, obviously growing impatient. He whips back around to Din, blaster in one hand, Darksaber in the other.
"Lothal," Din immediately responds. "The old Jedi Temple on Lothal. Training with Luke Skywalker. I will take you there. Just let her go."
"Liar!" Gideon shouts, the blaster violently bashing upside Din's head like a steel hammer.
The force of the hit causes Din to fall to the ground, writing in pain.
"Don't lie to me," the Moff threatens.
"I don't know where he is," Din sputters.
Gideon scowls. "Then you are of no more use to me."
"Stop it!" you shout, your voice coming out in a deep growl. "You're losing and you know it. You're desperately clinging to the last thread of control you have. It'll be severed today, and if you kill Din, you'll only further solidify that fact. You'll make him a hero, and all of Mandalore will rally together to avenge his death."
"I will wipe him from history," Gideon replies. "I will wipe all of you from history."
"You're already dead, Gideon," you continue, sitting up on your knees stoically. "You know it, I know it, everyone here knows it. You will not survive to see tomorrow."
"Riduur…," Din pleads, his voice weak from the loss of blood.
"No!" you shout to your husband before looking back at Gideon. "He is dying. Let him go, let him be saved, and your mercy will not be forgotten. You want to be like the Mandalorians? Show you have some fucking honor."
Gideon looks as if he's considering your words for a moment. Your heart hammers through your chest, your eyes never leaving the Moff. Your soul fills with refusal, with despair that you'd come so far only to see Din on the verge of death. You will not accept this twisted fate.
"It's too late for negotiations, you silly girl," Gideon informs you.
Your heart immediately drops, falling to the bottom of your stomach like it's lead-filled and no longer capable of beating.
"No," you say, first coming out as a whisper. "No! You can't! You can't do this! You'll pay for this!"
"Riduur," Din calls weakly.
"I'll kill you myself," you threaten, trying to stand, but you're once more pushed to the ground, left to sob, feeling completely powerless.
"Riduur…"
Shaking your head, you refuse to look up, tears falling to the polished stone floor below you.
"Please."
Swallowing a sob, you lift your head to look across the room and into his glazed, pleading eyes.
"I'm sorry." His voice is barely above a whisper, cracking with emotion. There isn't an echo, his sorrowful words fading into silence almost before they're spoken, like stones thrown into a bottomless pit.
Gideon raises the Darksaber slowly, almost ceremoniously. The weapon thrums loudly, prepared to slash. "Long live the Empire."
[LINE BREAK]
An ultra-deafening crack rips through your eardrums. The explosion blows open a blocked door on a side wall, filling the area with smoke and the bitter taste of thermite. A handful of Mandalorians pour through the opening, the air filling with laserfire, the barrage of fire shrieking by your ears and filling the room with sparks and heat.
You have a split second to react - and you use it. With a sweeping kick, you knock the nearest trooper's feet from under him, and he falls heavily. His blaster discharges before flying out of his hand, sending a bolt pinging into the nearest wall, a shower of sparks raining down onto the floor.
Desperate, you scramble to where the weapon skittered across the floor, taking it in your hand and putting a pair of blaster bolts in the trooper's head before he can reach you. Quickly, you aim to find your next opponent, but find…none.
"Clear!" a modulated voice calls.
With a clang, the blaster falls from your hand as you start to run to your husband's side, realizing it's safe.
"Din!" you shriek, falling to the floor to assess his injuries.
"Get a medic in here!" a familiar voice barks, though you don't process it, only caring about one person.
"I'm fine," Din grunts between sharp breaths.
"You are not fine," you insist, moving to remove his hands. "Let me see."
He allows you to see the vicious wound Gideon's spear left. Through ripped armor and garments, you see what looks like a gaping mouth spewing blood pierced into his skin. It's deep, and you wonder if it's a miracle that he's still alive. It's also a miracle that it didn't seem to pierce anything vital.
"Dank farrik," you utter under your breath.
"I need him to lay back."
You look up at a Mandalorian with a red sigil on her white pauldron, signifying her status as a medic.
With a nod, you scoot behind Din, helping to ease him over on his back so that his head rests comfortably on your lap.
"Shit," Din seethes as the medic begins her work.
Softly, you stroke his brow, trying to smooth the frown away. The warmth of his skin is comforting, happy to find he seems neither feverish nor cold, though he's shivering and a bit clammy.
"Shh," you console. "It'll be okay."
"W-where's the kid when you need him?" Din questions, a little chuckle still left in his voice.
A small smile quirks about your mouth. "He's off doing Jedi stuff, so the doctor here will have to do. Try to be still. Talk to me."
"Y-you're crazy. You know that?" Din questions, forcing your smile to widen.
"I know," you reply simply. "But I take comfort in knowing I'm not the only crazy one in this relationship. Tell me what happened."
"I…I don't know," he says, his eyebrows skewed. "I guess my luck finally ran out."
"Not today, Mand'alor," the medic chimes in. "You're going to live to see another day."
"And many more after," you add, softly stroking his hair.
"Why are you here, cyar'ika?" Din asks, not allowing silence to fall between you.
A thoughtful frown skews your eyebrows, wondering if you should tell Din everything know or save some for later. "I found the Imperial spy," you reply. "He told Gideon everything. No one was answering my calls, and I couldn't let you fall into a trap."
"I'm sorry. We went silent," Din responds. "We… We assumed Gideon knew everything, and Bo came up with a plan to devise fake plans of attack, hoping that Gideon would be fed false information."
"And he was," Bo-Katan chimes in, approaching the two of you, helmet in her hand. "Imagine the Imps' surprise when nothing went according to plan."
You're in shock. "I…What? You…you knew?"
"Not until I was on Lothal," Din says.
"We assumed," Bo-Katan clarifies. "And we were right. Sorry we couldn't keep you in the loop, but we couldn't risk any communications getting intercepted."
"I…it's okay," you say. "I understand."
Your mind swirls. Should you have just trusted that everything would be okay? Was it a mistake coming here? Had you only done more damage?
"Fuck! Greef is in the Undercity," you blurt out, remembering you didn't come alone. "We were flanked by troops. I left him to find you."
"Find him," Bo-Katan barks to a couple Mandalorians standing nearby. "Take out any stragglers." She looks back down out Din, holding out the hilt of the Darksaber for Din to take. "Here. Stop trying to lose the damn thing."
Din stares up at her, confusion on his face. "I…I already did," he responds. "It belongs to you."
"What?" Bo-Katan questions, confusion clouding her voice.
"It must be won in combat," he replies between grunts of pain. "Gideon won it from me, and you won it from Gideon." He gestures to the body of the Imperial Moff lying on the ground.
Bo-Katan looks from the body to the hilt of the saber in her hand, obvious disbelief on her face.
"The Darksaber is yours, Bo," Din encourages. "Mandalore is yours. You killed the man who destroyed it. That makes you Bo-Katan Kryze…Te Gra'tua Mand'alor."
Mandalore the Avenger.
She turns to the remaining Mandalorians in the room, and in response they bow their heads, confirming what Din has said. They all witnessed it – Bo-Katan Kryze delivered the final shot to Moff Gideon. She is Mand'alor.
Bo-Katan tights her grip around the hilt and her posture stiffens, her chest puffing beneath the blue armor. "Let's get this place cleaned up." She turns back to Din. "You are no longer bound by Creed. You are a Mandalorian, and always will be. Everyone is free to define what that means as long as we remember that we are all sons and daughters of Mandalore."
[LINE BREAK]
The golden sunrise breaks the horizon before you, washing away the darkness of night, giving you the first good view of the once-great city. Various towers somehow managed to survive the bombings over the last decade despite the damage they sustained. The shattered glass and scorched stones serve as a reminder that Mandalore can be battered, bruised, and temporarily subdued - but never defeated.
Mandalore will survive…We always survive.
The Mandalorians survived.
Din survived.
You survived.
Hands gripping the metal railing in front of you, you close your eyes, savoring the feeling of the cool breeze on your cheeks. Though you're not certain what the future holds, you're not afraid, confident in feeling that the best has yet to come. The future will be free of your past woes. No longer will you have to fear the tyranny of the Empire.
Turning, you leave the balcony and step back into the Sundari throne room. Sitting in the throne atop the raised platform is Din, an elbow propped on the armrest, chin in his hand, looking at nothing.
"I wouldn't let Bo-Katan catch you sitting in that," you jest while approaching the throne. "She might think you're plotting to overthrow her."
He chuckles quietly, his eyes moving to find you. "It's all hers."
Sitting on the arm of the chair, you run your fingers through his hair. "How are you feeling?"
"Sore," he replies plainly, his worst injuries likely healed by now thanks to the bacta. "But I can manage. I'm more worried about you."
"I'm fine. Nothing a little bacta couldn't fix," you reply, giving him a reassuring smile.
"And this one?" he questions, a large hand spreading over your lower abdomen, where your growing belly is hidden beneath armor padding.
"She's strong," you reply, placing a hand on his. "A fighter – just like her father."
"And her mother."
You exchange smiles.
"I think this belongs to you."
Reaching behind your neck, you untie the leather cord, carefully pulling the pendant from where it rests beneath your flightsuit. Then, you place it around Din's neck, carefully tying it, letting the pendant rest on the fabric of his cape.
"I kept my end of the bargain, too," he said, transferring your bracelet from his wrist to yours. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have asked you to stay on Nevarro."
"I understand why you did," you reply. "Just as I'm sure you understand why I couldn't stay."
He nods, his eyes full of remorse as he softly affirms, "We're vulnerable when we're apart."
"Together, though, were unstoppable," you add.
Leaning down, you kiss his mouth, just once, placing the softest kiss on his lips. His hands find your hair, his mouth rough against yours as he kisses you back. Foreheads locked together, your warm breaths hover in the air between you like your own intimate world.
"What do we do now?" you question.
"I should help the others."
"You've done more than enough already," you assure him. "More than anyone should've ever asked you to do."
"It was my duty. I denied it for far too long. Now, my duty is only to you to as a husband and to Shae as a father."
Wiping a stray strand of hair from his forehead, you say, "The universe is ours, Mando. We can do anything we want. But for now, I think you and I both deserve a shower and some sleep."
[LINE BREAK]
Neither of you say a word as the two of you strip down, leaving your armor and soiled clothes in a pile in the middle of the floor of your sleeping quarters on Slave II. Din is the first to undress fully, disappearing into the refresher to switch on the shower. He leads you in, placing you beneath the heavy flow of warm water. You close your eyes, allowing the water to flow down your body, enjoying the warmth as it permeates through you.
Goosebumps form on your skin when Din begins to wash your body. Relaxing your muscles, you let him touch you gently, lovingly. His hands run over your arms, along your shoulders, down your back. Reeling in the feeling of your husband's rough hands on your wet skin, you let out a soft moan and arch into him. His hands slip across your belly, sliding down to your soft curls, but no further. He runs kisses along your neck.
Touch me, you want to say, but you remain silent, relishing the moment.
Then he's washing your hair, the smell of shampoo filling the shower stall. His hands slowly massage your scalp, and you can't help but groan in pleasure. He rinses the shampoo from your hair, and when he's finished you turn to him, taking the soap in your hand to return the favor.
Carefully, you glide along the front of his body, admiring every inch of him. His shoulders are broad. His arms defined. His chest is strong. He wears several new scrapes and bruises, and you're careful not to touch them. When you reach his abdomen, you're mindful of his healing wound, careful to avoid the waterproof bacta patch, eyes transfixed to it. He must've seen your eyes furrow in worry.
"Riduur?" he questions.
A sob is stuck in your throat as visions of Din bleeding on the floor creep into your mind. Swallowing hard, you take a deep breath then whisper, "I was so sure they were going to kill you this time…" Tears slip from your eyes.
Placing a hand on your cheek, he tilts your head up and looks deeply into your eyes, his own warm and soft. "I know. But they didn't. I'm here."
You nod, but the tears continue to flow.
Din gently grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his chest, covering your hand with his own, pressing it into his skin. "Do you feel that? That is my heart beating."
You nod, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm and reverberate through your fingers. He's alive. He's alive. He's alive, you chant in your head.
"The Empire is gone. They can never hurt us. No one will ever hurt us.
You look up at him through your eyelashes.
He cups your face. "I promise."
"Good. Because I like having you alive," you finally admit.
Din's lips crash down on yours, his mouth hungry, desperate, telling you that he likes having you alive too. His tongue pushes into your mouth, and your hands grip his face before sliding down his neck.
"Are you okay?" you ask before diving in for another kiss. If he's not okay, if he's still hurting, you shouldn't be kissing him like this. But you can't help it. You need his kisses. You need to know that everything is okay.
"Yes. Are you?" he asks, his voice deepening into a protective beast, like he'd kill another platoon of Imperial soldiers just to kiss you again.
Grinning against his lips, you reply, "We reclaimed Mandalore. We killed the Imps. I'm kissing my husband. I'm good."
"Thank fuck."
Water cascades down both your bodies as Din's lips meet yours in a hard, passionate kiss. He guides you backwards, his body pressing you against the wall of the shower. His hands slide down your torso and grip your bare waist. You moan into his mouth as he pulls your body tightly against his, his erection pressing into you, causing the ache simmering in your lower belly to intensify.
You tilt your head to the side, opening your neck to him as your hands curl into fists against his warm, muscled chest. He moves his mouth to your ear, kissing it and nuzzling his face in your hair.
"Can I taste you, cyare?" he questions, not that he ever needs to ask.
"Yes," you breath.
His lips move lower, dotting your neck then your chest. He stops to taste your nipples, sucking them in his mouth in long, slow pulls that have you writhing.
He drops to his knees, and you watch as he presses your knees apart, his eyes locked on your pussy, as if admiring it. Then he pulls you close to him and inhales your scent.
"So fucking beautiful," he rasps before planting a soft kiss on your mound.
His hands flutter across your hips when you roll into him, your body begging for friction, trying to feel any part of him where you want him – need him - the most. But he takes his time, leaving soft, feathery kisses up your thigh that make you tremble in anticipation.
Din's tongue snakes between your folds, and you spread yourself wider for him. His places a hand above your belly, gently pinning you to the wall as he licks and kisses and sucks the soft flesh in his mouth. With his other hand, he gently parts your folds and plunges his tongue in deeper, making you gasp. When he drags his tongue all the way up to your swollen clit, your body twitches hard, knees going weak. He guides a thigh over his shoulder, propping you against him so he can move you. His hands roll your hips, his tongue raking over your pussy.
You lose yourself in him, in the feel of his skin against yours, the warmth his mouth brings. Your breath comes out in sharp pants as he licks over then around the bud. You vibrate against him, whimpering softly.
"Let go, riduur. Let me hear you. Let all of Mandalore hear you."
He covers your clit with his lips and sucks, forcing you to cry out while a hands flie to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer to you. Your other hand clutches his shoulder, clawlike, your nails digging into his flesh. Breath coming in short gasps, you throw your head back against the shower wall and scream his name, stars bursting in your steamy vision. He sucks you through your orgasm. He licks against where you're wet and sweet then lifts his head and studies your face, your cheeks flushed, eyes closed, mouth agape, try desperately to catch your breath.
He moves up your body, kissing your slick skin softly, making you writhe, as if every inch of you has become oversensitive. Trailing kisses up your neck, to your jaw, you squirm, the heat rising against and swirling in your stomach. Despite the earth-shattering orgasm, you want more.
"Din, please."
He kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.
"Need you. In me. Now."
He spins you around, lifting your arms and placing them against the wall. You arch your back and push your ass out. He bends down and parts your legs, running a hand up your wet thighs. He straightens himself and hovers behind you, his cock poised at your entrance, a hand firmly on your hip. You push against him, inviting him in.
His cock doesn't need adjusting. It was in the perfect place, as if it knew where it needed to be. He pushes inside you, slowly, steadily, as I savoring the feeling as you devour every inch of him. Squeezing your eyes shut, your mouth opens in a tiny 'O,' whimper until he's buried to the hilt inside you.
"Fuck," he utters, his voice a raspy sound of ecstasy as he stills inside you. His forehead falls to the back of your head.
Warm water runs down your bodies, every rivulet of water a flicker of added pleasure on your oversensitive skin.
"I love the feel of you, riduur," you speak.
"You seem to mold around me as if I belong there."
You turn your head, his mouth falling to the nape of your neck.
"You do…right here…one with me."
His grip tightens on your hip, fingers pressing into your flesh. Slowly, he pulls out of you, feeling the squeeze of you from base to tip before gently thrusting his hardness back into your welcoming body. The sensual feel causes moans to fall from both of you. He takes slow thrusts at first, then builds his speed up to a driving rhythm. He plunges inside you deep, hard, fast, stroke after desperate stroke.
His hand snakes down your body, ending up palm down across your mouth, fingers massaging your clit.
"Come with me, cyare."
You buck back into him as the two of you writhe against each other. Your body shakes as he presses into your clit, circling it around and flicking it expertly. His lips nibble your earlobe, his hot breath pulsing on your neck. Your jaw unhinges in silent pleasure, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear.
"That's it. I can feel it."
You quickly reach down, grasping his hand on your hip. Your back arches and you pull him in deeper. He gives one final push, deep and hard, before you both explode into a million shards of light together. His cock pulsates deep inside you
His body slumps against yours, spent and fulfilled. The two of you heave for air, water and sweat drip onto your skin as he kisses and nips at your shoulder. Letting him fall out of you, you turn around, your hands reaching up to feel his soaking hair. Your eyes lock, his deep chocolate brown orbs capturing and trapping you within their depths. Surrounding sounds disappear, leaving only the loud thud of your own heart. Moments pass before the spell is broken by his voice, the deep, husky sound vibrating through you whole body. Hand falls to stomach?
"Bo can have Mandalore," he says simply. "I have everything I need right here."
[LINE BREAK]
"Are you sure there's no convincing you to stay?" Bo-Katan questions. She stands outside of Slave II with the two of you, having come to say goodbye. Boba, Fennec, and Greef had left Mandalore weeks earlier, you and Din opting to stay behind to help get some things in order before leaving to settle in your new home. "The council could use both of you. Not to mention I'm certain the two of you could singlehandedly repopulate the entire planet."
Chuckling, you turn your gaze to Din.
"I'm sorry, Bo, but for now, our place is on Nevarro," Din responds.
"You haven't seen the last of us though," you chime in. "Greef is very eager for Nevarro to open trade talks with Mandalore. Isn't that right, Marshal Djarin?" You're absolutely beaming as you look at him, proud of everything he has done, everything he has yet to do.
Din chuckles, blushing slightly at the title.
"Well, then. I look forward to future negotiations." Bo-Katan smiles then holds her hand out to grasp Din's arm, hand to elbow. "Vor entye." Thank you.
"Ba'gedet'ye, Mand'alor," Din responds. You're welcome.
"Have you taken up a title yet?" you question, your curiosity sparked by Din's use of her Mand'alor.
"There have been suggestions," Bo-Katan replies, eyeing Din. "But titles are the least of my concern."
"Not even one you like?"
She chuckles. "I'm not impartial to Mandalore the Avenger, which seems to be gaining some traction thanks to someone, but I don't dare steal the title from Shae Vizsla."
"Shae Vizsla?" you question, turning your head to Din. The two of you exchange a confused look. A ruler from hundreds of years ago, no doubt.
Those are perfectly fine names by Tatooine standards, but… Are they right for warriors?
You're the first to break, a burst of laughter escaping your lips. Though they're completely valid, your past fears seem so silly now.
Din groans. "Just my luck, naming my kid after a kriffing Vizsla."
Smiling brightly, you grab a hold of his hand, your other hand falling to your belly. "She's not a Vizsla though. She's a Djarin. And she'll wear the name proudly."